


The King of Mutts

by Marsbarss



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Charles deserves love, Charles isn't the bad guy, Charles-centric, Human Disaster Alexander Hamilton, M/M, Zombie John Adams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-23 13:10:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14934881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marsbarss/pseuds/Marsbarss
Summary: The King of Mutts is a smartass British man named Charles Lee. A college student who locked himself away behind a wall with a horde of dogs in the zombie apocalypse. One day a survivor winds up at his doorstep.





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: The Apocalypse Begins on Monday

The apocalypse really put a hole in all of Charles Lee’s life plans. College was done, because the professors were all growling corpses who ate their student’s faces. Horrible punishment for failing midterms. Rather rude, really. So there go his hopes and dreams and degree. He paid good money towards that stupid, validating scrap of paper to never receive it. His other plans included being a successful choreographer and showing up that no good George William Frederick, his rival. Neither have been achieved. Though when most of the world’s population was undead, who could say he wasn’t the greatest choreographer in New York? Anyway, life sucked. More than usual. Charles had fled the big city when the outbreak began, trying to survive. It was a rather dreary Monday when it all started….

6:00 am, September 24th, 2018

How was Charles awake this early? When his dark eyes saw the time on the clock he groaned loudly and clutched onto the fur of his small black companion. The pitter patter of rain on the roof above was the only other noise.

“Okay, Spada we might as well get up..” Charles spoke through and suppressed a yawn, sitting up with all of his energy. After running a hand through his disheveled hair, he finally slipped out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. One revitalizing shower later the young man threw on a pair of simple jeans, a white t-shirt, and a black jacket before lacing up his shoes and heading out the door. Classes started at eight and it was only seven, but he might as well get breakfast for once. “I’ll be back in a few hours Spada.” He kissed the dog’s nose and was off for a horribly unhealthy breakfast of hot cakes, hashbrowns, and a coffee from mcdonalds. 

Things were rather normal for the first few hours of the day. Alexander was annoying as usual and brilliant as ever, and a heated debate left the two well satisfied and in a foul mood for a while thought they couldn’t hate each other for long. Frederick was obnoxious and Charles once more nearly punched him, and would have if not for John holding him back. Lafayette tried to lecture Charles about his ‘unseemly’ taste in fashion, Hercules joining in. This continued for an entire class as Charles insisted, yes a yellow crop top leather jacket looked wonderful with pink skinny jeans. Lafayette disagreed, looking mortified and appalled with Charles’ fashion. As normal as ever.  
Until Professor Adams bit into a student’s neck and mass panic erupted. Charles remembers vaguely nearly getting trampled as everyone ran out of the lecture hall only to come upon a horde as they left. He couldn’t find any of his friends that day and feared the worst. He hoped those idiots were alive. Who else would tolerate him despite his flaws besides his dog? Alexander would get into an argument with a zombie and probably get his face bit off. He worried about that kid. That was two years ago.

6:00 am, September 24th, 2020

Death was inevitable, right? Charles was astonished he survived this long but well, he wasn’t a quitter, or a little bitch, so he kept on keeping on. A few months of moving from place to place led him to a small, abandoned town in upstate New York. The zombies mostly froze during the winter there, it was a lucky thing. Corpses can’t move if they’re popsicles.

Charles sat atop the wall that surrounded a small portion of that little town, a project that had taken him a whole year to complete, with the help of some survivors who sadly were zombie food last January. It was made of old cars, fences, signs and anything else he could fashion into a big wall. Spikes lined the outer perimeter, outward so that any corpses would get stuck. Impaled, easy targets. He took them out with a knife when he could. 

Over the two years, Charles had secured himself a title among other survivors. The King of Mutts. Accurately given based on the fact he had a small army of dogs he had tamed. Approximately twenty seven, who followed him as their alpha. He always adored dogs. Had a way with them unlike others. The dogs guarded his little castle, and he used them to hunt zombies and deer alike. He fed them the game they caught and kept them well under control. Anyone who tried to storm his keep was ripped apart. Using his mutts as a negotiating piece, he kept a steady understanding with other survivors who came across his little haven. He traded supplies with them and they lived. Those who crossed him found that he knew every inch of the woodland around his keep, and it wasn’t easy to escape. Charles had a good thing going for him. 

Things had settled into a new normal. In a few moments he would get up to feed his dogs, and cook himself a breakfast of eggs and cured meat. He acquired the eggs from a nearby settlement that raised hens, in exchange for a bundle of cured meat. Maybe he’d ask if they had any fresh produce next time they passed by. He could kill for a fresh apple. Canned peaches only satisfied him for so long. Last he heard that settlement was still thriving, but he didn’t keep many tabs on other settlements often. It had a group of probably ten people, about four men, the rest women and children. Simple folk with a farm. They didn’t bother him often unless they both could gain something from the interaction.

The morning was rather lovely, the skies much clearer than the monday two years ago. Charles was never a morning person but he grew to love mornings. Waking up the next morning always meant that he’d lived another day and things hadn’t ended. 

As Charles stood from the old lawn chair he’d fashioned to his little watchtower, he heard a cry. Immediately, his gun was drawn and focus was turned to a flailing figure in the distance by the line of trees rimming the dense forest, running desperately from a small horde of zombies that fumbled out behind him. His brow narrowed and soon he flung to action. It took only a moment to climb down from the wall, gather half a dozen of his dogs, and open the gates as he loaded his hunting rifle.

“Veer right!” Charles yelled in a commanding tone, taking aim. The figure obeyed, nearly falling on their face in the process, and a shot tore past them, ripping into the zombie that had been on their tail. Charles whistled and pointed, and immediately his dogs sprung into action, tearing past him and engaging the live corpses. The group seemed offended by the intervention of the canines, but slow reflexes did nothing against the powerful jaws of german shepherds, boxers, and the rest of the dogs in the ensemble of mutts. One zombie stumbled as it tried to grab onto a rather large dog, only for another to rip its leg off and then tear into the neck once it was down. The rest of the zombies were similarly torn to pieces, rotting flesh strung about. The stench was awful. Charles pulled a bandana over his mouth to block some of the stench as he approached the scene.

Charles caught up to his mutts a moment later, digging his knife into the skull of one zombie whose leg had been torn off. The pathetic creature stopped writhing. He checked the rest of the corpses for signs of ..life? If that was the right way to put it. Anyway, the job was done.

The unfortunate survivor stood a few feet away, unarmed except for a screwdriver, swaying on their tired feet, and looking ready to collapse- and oh they collapsed. Joy. Charles had to deal with that now. He sighed and picked the other human up with some amount of difficulty, hauling them over his shoulder. “Come on let’s get behind the walls before more of those shits show up.” Just a normal Monday. Charles grunted with frustration “Fuck, you’re heavy.”


	2. The Charming Stranger

The dog’s in Charles’s company as he carried the stranger back to his camp sniffed curiously at the heels of the man, trotting beside Charles or behind him, keeping pace. The recluse wasn’t looking forward to using supplies on the stranger but hell, he liked to think he was a good person at times and this man was in horrible shape, so he should help. The gates to his hideaway were still ajar as he approached, and he slipped in and closed them after all of his dogs filed in behind him. It was no easy task while carrying the stranger but he didn’t want to leave the door open longer than it was. 

Charles headed to his ‘keep’, one of the houses which he’d commandeered for himself to live in. The place was small but in good shape, the windows all boarded up and about five locks on every door. He had a platform extending from the wall to the roof of the building, and into the attic. The house was a dingy beige colour which Charles hated but didn’t complain about because it was a roof over his head and he could do far worse. Safety was worth ugly paint. 

Making his way upstairs and to one of the bedrooms, Charles laid the stranger down in a bed that hadn’t seen much use other than a storage room for his provisions. He felt the pulse of the man before thoroughly checking him over for bites, then nodded to himself before walking off to get some water and food. 

Charles went downstairs and to the kitchen, looking through the cupboards. He snatched a can of beans and opened the can, stuck a plastic fork in, nabbed some dried meat from the broken fridge where he kept it, and picked up a water bottle from an opened case. With everything attained, he headed back up the stairs. As he entered the bedroom, he heard the telltale signs of the stranger waking. Movement, a confused mumble, and a groan, probably sore from falling to the ground like a ragdoll.

“Good morning, stranger.” Charles greeted as he set the bottle of water and a can of beans along with some dried meat on the bedside table. “Considering you collapsed and fell on your arse you should probably start with water and food before you get over excited and we play twenty questions to learn who each other is and their intentions and all that shite.”

“Thank you.” The stranger said softly, and took the offering gratefully, gulping down the water and tearing into the food. 

“When you’re done and feel up to walking come find me, we can talk then.”

With that, Charles left the room, and the house all together. He headed to the line of troughs that sat against one of the walls, grabbing a hose and filling half with water. The small town got water from a well, which Charles took advantage of, setting up the needed repairs to get the water flowing. He had a couple generators which he used to keep his compound going. He’d built up a lot in the last few years and it was honestly the best thing he could have hoped for. It was as peaceful as a fortress in the zombie apocalypse could get.

He went about absentmindedly filling the other half of the troughs with food for his hounds, who sat nearby with drool dripping from their jowls and tails thumping against the ground. Some of the less disciplined pups didn’t wait and just ran over to begin eating. Charles laughed, a genuine thing that came rarely these days, and let the rest of the dogs know they could eat as well, patting the nearest one on the head fondly. He cooed and muttered encourage things to his pups, staying seated on a large tire. 

As he sat in the morning sun with his pack, he began to doze off, tired from well, he was always tired. The apocalypse did that to you. He never got a decent night’s sleep anymore. The brit ran one pale hand through the soft fur of one of the larger dogs, which curled up at his feet once he was done eating, white snout nuzzling into his leg and heavy paws laid across his feet. Charles smiled contently before opening his eyes.

It was tempting to simply sit here with his dogs all day and doze off in the morning sun, however he knew it was never a time to slack off. With a sigh he pushed himself to his feet and thought over what needed to be done that day.

“South wall needs repairs, got zombies to remove from the pikes on the west, the latest batch of meat should be done..” He was pulled from his thoughts when the stranger walked up to him, albeit still seeming a bit disoriented. “Oh, you’re up. Well. Introductions then? Charles Lee.” He held out a gloved hand to this stranger, who admittedly had very beautiful eyes.

“John Andre, a pleasure.” His accent was british, and that made Charles grin. 

“Well good to know I’m not the only Brit stuck in this bloody hell hole of a country.” Charles laughed. John sounded much more well, proper than Charles did. Charles was rough sounding compared to the literal beauty that rolled off of this stranger’s tongue.

“Yes, the entire situation is hellish.” John agreed, and looked around the area curiously. “Are you alone here?”

“Alone? No, I’ve got my hounds, but in regards to humans, yeah I’m the only one.” Charles shrugged. “My little paradise, people who meet me call me the King of Mutts.” He snorted in amusement, shaking his head. “I kinda like the title, sounds cool.”

“King of Mutts, huh? I guess a king needs a castle. How long did it take to build this?”

“About a year, but I had help from passers by and others. Used to have a group for a while I ran with until a horde came through.”

“That must have been tragic, I’m sorry.”

Charles just shrugged. “They were all assholes, not really good people. Raiders, harmed innocents. I’m glad they’re dead.” He paused and looked John over, crossing his arms. “You don’t exactly look like the lone wolf type, pretty boy, what were you doing out there?”

John looked down, growing quiet. “Our group was outnumbered by a larger horde, we split up and meant to regroup a few miles down the road, however I lost my bearings and well..here I am.”

“I see..Well, let’s go see if your friends are there. Could be waiting for you.” Charles headed back to the house and motioned for John to follow. He headed to what at once was the living room, and now was a stockpile for his weapons and ammunition acquired over the time he spent there. He grabbed a pistol and loaded it, grabbing a half filled box of ammunition as well, before handing it to John. “Here.” He said simply before grabbing a backpack, throwing some supplies into it. “If you’re feeling up to it, we can head out now, but we should get moving as soon as possible. They may move on if too much time passes.”

 

John nodded as he followed along, looking over the pistol and stuffing it in his belt, looking over at his savior. “I’ll manage, I’ve been through worse.”

 

“Haven’t we all, let’s go. I’ll bring a couple hounds with us, better security.”

Charles headed out of the house, pace not slowing. He moved fast and with intent, clearly hardened by this reality. He was a college student before, John learned as they headed towards the agreed rendezvous point. They made their way through the woods, avoiding roads and possible routes they could run into any hordes. Charles kept a punishing pace but slowed down at times to let the still tired John keep up.

“What was your major?” John asked with a pleasant smile.

“Dance, I also studied political science.”

“I studied art and music.”

“Suits you, seem the type.”

Their peace was cut off as the sound of fighting reached their eardrums, and the two cast a look at each other, steady. Charles frowned and drew his rifle, slowly approaching the edge of the forest, keeping in cover. His dogs growled beside them, but he hushed them with a quiet tut, lifting his hand in front of them. 

Ahead of them, he saw a ragtag group of survivors engaged with a group of zombies that seemed to be gaining leverage. 

Charles nodded to John and then aimed his rifle, giving the signal to his dogs to attack.  
To Be Continued~

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure I like how this started but please give me feedback! Make suggestions as to who this survivor should be and what ships you'd like to see with all the characters.


End file.
